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Literature Text
dear me;
i'd tell you to stop, but maybe being unfaithful to yourself is who you really are.
i'd tell you to tune into yourself and block out others, but maybe that's what made you stronger.
and, i'd tell you to please, just stop crying, before you're too old to learn how to smile.
but, nothing i can tell you now would change a thing;
and, in reality-
i'm glad.
i'm glad that we just sat back, whilst all around our life
developed; the modern twenty-first century, where we
depend on auto-pilot to guide us from a to b.
the simple journey from child to teenager.
{you'll learn fast that nothing is ever simple.}
we just got lost in translation. caught in limbo, stuck
within the moments of an action film, just before the
hero falls; hanging onto broken rope tethers as their
life flashes before their eyes. and in those films, they
always seem to survive. by some obscene stroke of
luck, they're saved.
{you're so impatient; you'll learn soon that your life
is like the novel you read the final chapter in, before
understanding the plot, where you just wanted to
know how it all ended before it had all begun.}
you were saved, too.
{but not by a hero; you saved yourself.}
you'll learn that you're not a label, but a living, breathing
girl. that the music that you liked because you felt you
had to will become long forgotten scores in your memory,
sparking lone embers in your mind when you hear the
melodies in the future. you'll learn that grades are nothing
against your own happiness; but that commitment and
intelligence are the most valuable things you can earn
from education, because you still can't understand bloody maths.
but most of all, you will learn that even when you're older,
you'll still be learning. not from dated textbooks, but from
life itself. you'll learn how to love, to care, and to protect others.
and that's why you'll still be like this when you're older;
because you were too busy worrying before your time,
whilst you should have been growing up. but, then again.
it has never been like you to conform to regularities, and
actually do things on time, has it?
and now, you've met me again. for we're both staring
bare-eyed at the crossroad, our rain-washed hair moving
with the storm as it beats its drum upon our bodies. i know
you will be safe. but i have to think for myself now:
something you should have learnt long ago.
i'd tell you to stop, but maybe being unfaithful to yourself is who you really are.
i'd tell you to tune into yourself and block out others, but maybe that's what made you stronger.
and, i'd tell you to please, just stop crying, before you're too old to learn how to smile.
but, nothing i can tell you now would change a thing;
and, in reality-
i'm glad.
i'm glad that we just sat back, whilst all around our life
developed; the modern twenty-first century, where we
depend on auto-pilot to guide us from a to b.
the simple journey from child to teenager.
{you'll learn fast that nothing is ever simple.}
we just got lost in translation. caught in limbo, stuck
within the moments of an action film, just before the
hero falls; hanging onto broken rope tethers as their
life flashes before their eyes. and in those films, they
always seem to survive. by some obscene stroke of
luck, they're saved.
{you're so impatient; you'll learn soon that your life
is like the novel you read the final chapter in, before
understanding the plot, where you just wanted to
know how it all ended before it had all begun.}
you were saved, too.
{but not by a hero; you saved yourself.}
you'll learn that you're not a label, but a living, breathing
girl. that the music that you liked because you felt you
had to will become long forgotten scores in your memory,
sparking lone embers in your mind when you hear the
melodies in the future. you'll learn that grades are nothing
against your own happiness; but that commitment and
intelligence are the most valuable things you can earn
from education, because you still can't understand bloody maths.
but most of all, you will learn that even when you're older,
you'll still be learning. not from dated textbooks, but from
life itself. you'll learn how to love, to care, and to protect others.
and that's why you'll still be like this when you're older;
because you were too busy worrying before your time,
whilst you should have been growing up. but, then again.
it has never been like you to conform to regularities, and
actually do things on time, has it?
and now, you've met me again. for we're both staring
bare-eyed at the crossroad, our rain-washed hair moving
with the storm as it beats its drum upon our bodies. i know
you will be safe. but i have to think for myself now:
something you should have learnt long ago.
Literature
what it means to let go.
"No more presents,"
he said. he really meant
"No more I love yous,
hugs, and dinners with the family.
No more road trips
because I'm too busy for you.
No more forgiving for mistakes
that never should have been made.
No more caring for your wounds,
big or small,
because you know how to put on a band-aid
and take care of yourself."
I opened my mouth
to protest but
he
cut
me
off.
"You're too old for this,"
he said, but I knew that he was really saying,
"I am too old for this.
You don't need me anymore,
you don't love me, us,
anymore.
You've moved on from this world,
and maybe I should too.
Maybe we should just stop l
Literature
this.
you have shaded eyes quiet smile dark hair love ─
and I could do anything
if it wasn't for you.
collapse the borders on the edge of my vision;
everything's faded out to black shards.
It's cliché and stupid and it won't mean a thing to you, but I know
I won't be able to breathe when you leave tomorrow.
the shield whispering around my skin
was untouchable, I thought, perfect;
no one would be able to get in.
But you passed right through without even trying.
arou
Literature
Of leaving pieces.
Understand this: that love is a religion
of birds, of restlessness, of flight.
Of moving somewhere warmer when the cold sets in,
of longing, of leaving, of being
the one left behind, of feathers,
of an empty nest in the heart of winter,
nestled in some firm elbow of brittle branches
that stopped reaching for the sky when the last
leaf fell, bleak against a landscape of
blacks and whites and greys save for one
little piece of red string,
tucked lovingly among the twigs,
so dutifully gathered, piece by piece,
by a creature who had seen winters before,
but made a home for himself here anyway.
---
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full title: i'd tell you to stop, before it's too late to start.
probably the most rewarding piece of literature i've written in a long while. catharsis is a wonderful thing. :']
written for live-love-write/xpose-it's contest to write to your younger self: [link]
probably the most rewarding piece of literature i've written in a long while. catharsis is a wonderful thing. :']
written for live-love-write/xpose-it's contest to write to your younger self: [link]
© 2010 - 2024 flawedfairytale
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